Renovation

 Recently, I was reading from a devotional, and within the reading was the mention of home renovations. That struck a cord in me, a deeper thought reaching beyond the home built of brick and mortar. I thought of my life and how, like our home that we renovated, my heart and life also experienced a renovation when I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior. 

Salvation was an early renovation, the first step of a work in progress. You see, we renovated our house. We cleaned, tore some parts out, rebuilt some parts, added fresh electrical wires and outlets, tore up old carpet that had dry rotted, and hired out a company to lay new carpet. We sanded down old and tired woodwork, painted walls in bright and soothing colors, and installed new and updated appliances and counter tops. Old light fixtures were removed, and new light fixtures were installed.  Tired windows were replaced with windows that could be opened to welcome the fresh air and tipped out so that they could be washed easily. Those clean windows allow the sunlight to stream into our home, casting beautiful natural light throughout. 

We worked around the house on the outside as well. Some plants that had overgrown were either removed or simply trimmed into shape, flowerbeds were weeded, mulch and gravel spread in place. An herb garden was planted, providing savory flavors to our meals. 

The renovations demanded of us a lot of time, dedication, and work. When it was finished, we constantly walked into our fresh home and smiled with satisfaction and contentment in the work we had accomplished. We often raised our hands in high five salutes. One would think that now we could simply sit back and enjoy the home. We were finished. The renovations we wanted to address were completed. However, that is not the case.

The home is restored. It certainly has a welcoming feel about it, but because we did the work, I can see the imperfections. The walls call for periodic washing down to remove dust that prevents the light from bouncing back into the space. The windows need cleaning so that we can see through them clearly. There are the occasional times where the paint needs to be touched up from people banging items into them or repeatedly brushing past the edges of a corner. Many hands with food particles or dirt leave marks that need cleaned. And even the things that were bought new, need repairing or replacing, because they are not meant to last forever. Certainly, there is a constant demand for continual upkeep on the home we so lovingly renovated. 

And, I think of my heart and spirit. I think of how I am so very much like our renovated home. I invited Jesus into my heart. He bought me; after all, He paid the debt of my sins. Renovations of my life began. It is an ever-continuing process. At the beginning, much was accomplished very quickly. My focus and attention changed from that of the temporal to the eternal. With God, I worked to clean up my thoughts, my desires, my intentions, and my relationships. 

Like our freshly renovated home though, this old house I call my mind, body and soul needs on-going attention and care. Oh, how I so often forget this! I'm prone to becoming dusty and musty. My paint gets scuffed and marred from the toil of everyday life. I forget to wash my windows regularly, and so I don't see things clearly. The wiring of my mind gets crossed and sometimes the outlets don't function properly. My thoughts, actions, or inaction haunt my mind, and I'm tricked into believing I'm no longer suited for habitation. 

And so, I come to fully understand that just like our home, I must be under constant maintenance if I am to hold my value; if I'm to be of use to my family and community. I'm still bought and paid for; I still belong to Jesus. However, my usefulness diminishes with my dilapidation. I must return to The Source of renewal and rejuvenation. 

I wash down the walls of my mind with the Word of God. The dust and cobwebs are swept away through worship and the Holy Spirit. Hope returns on the wings of prayer. I am again willing to go where Jesus leads. 

Thus, the doors of my heart open, and I welcome the work and fellowship that comes my way. 

Hope; a poem

 Hope is a rushing river,

    surging in and ebbing out;

meandering banks through flood and drought,

    covering stones of fear and doubt.

Hope is a brilliant sunlight,

    a magnificent work of art;

 Though storms may loom, and she depart

    with a gentle breeze, hope returns to lift the heart.

Hope is a fluttering butterfly,

    where even in times of loss and fearful fright,

The most delicate of wings take flight;

    and bring the wandering, seeking soul aright.

Elevator

 The elevator ascends, all is well;

    all are welcome.

The elevator descends. Bottom falling out - 

    stuck on floor 13;

Even though there is no 13th floor.

Warning!

Closed for repairs.

Repairs complete; elevator open.

Going up?

Renovation

 It's been quite a whirlwind the past two weeks. I've been working on renovating our basement, and yes, my husband and I do our own work. It's highly rare for us to hire work out, so this means I roll up my shirt sleeves and bust out the buckets, washcloths, ladders, various tools for dismantling and reassembling objects, and don't forget the paint and brushes and drop cloths and tape and .....

I'm a "begin with the end in mind" sort of gal. I envision the end product, and then I begin working through the process deciding what needs to happen in which logical order. There is a clear vision in my mind, but seeing the results as we progress is very rewarding. 

We are now to the point where hubby has several jobs to do with the finishing touches. It's things like cutting and mounting trim, plumbing, and caulk. While he works on this, I'm laundering new bedding and adding decor. 

Watching the transformation come to fruition is like icing on the cake. It's so fun to see my vision become a reality. 

So, as I sit here writing this, I'm reminded of how these processes reflect on life. I consider the way I envisioned my family when we were all young. The years of labor and toil, laughter and tears, plans and surprises; and now, I see all of our work in beautiful results. Adult children raising their own children, and doing a wonderful job of that. Our grandchildren are growing and thriving. 

Just as our basement renovation will continue to need maintenance and care, so do our families, our lives, our spirits. We are never truly finished with projects whether they be home remodeling or building families. It's all cyclical. We just have to decide how much time and energy we are willing to invest.

Hashimoto Nightmare

 From those moments of exhaustion living with Hashimoto's disease. 

It's the same - every time I awake in my cocoon of blankets, exhaustion continues its stifling grasp on my mind, body and soul. I'm doomed before I begin the day; the endless chant engulfs me.

    "Death to your mind."

    "Death to your thoughts."

    "Death to your art."

    "You're worthless."

    "You're lazy."

    "You're incapable."

    "You lack inspiration."

    "Death to you."

    "Death to your heart."

    "You speak too much."

    "You speak too little."

    "Your words mean nothing."

    "You mean  nothing."

    "What makes you believe you should mean anything to anyone?"

I drag my lethargic body from my bed. I make a cursory pass by my studio, glancing in and turning away. The chanting continues. Chanting, chanting, chanting.

And, I shrink by degrees, by days, by weeks, by months. Shrinking, shrinking, shrinking. Until I'm invisible to me, to me, to me.

Is there a me? The chanting . . .

    "Death to your mind."

    "Death to your thoughts."

    "Death to your art."

    "You're worthless."

    "You're lazy."

    "You're incapable."

    "You lack inspiration."

    "Death to you."

    "Death to your heart."

    "You speak too much."

    "You speak too little."

    "Your words mean nothing."

    "You are nothing."

I strain my head back and cry out to the ceiling, "Wake up!"

Bucket List

 What do I want from this life? What is important to me?

If you had asked me as a child, I would have responded with hopes for a real family. I would have expressed a deep longing for a mother, a real mother. One who would make it her aim to keep me safe and enfold me in love. Kiss me goodbye in the morning with wishes for a wonderful day, and open arms of greeting upon my return home. I would tell you I wished for a real home. One where dinners were on the table with family gathered around, the air filled with the delicious aroma of the day's cooking and baking, and a dad who came home from work and kissed momma and the children. I would be one of those children. It would not have mattered to me how many children, only that we would be safe and loved and wanted. These would have been the bucket list of my young self, my child self.

As a young woman who made bold choices of her own at the tender age of fifteen, and questioned about my hopes for the future, I would have responded that I longed to create a family of my very own. A family where my husband loved me unconditionally and held me close to his heart. I would have expressed my desire to become a mother, and not just a mother, but a good mother. A loving mother. A mother who would be there for her children, love them, teach them, and hold them close to her heart. A mother who builds a home that offers safety for any who enter.

I never aspired to greatness, not in the sense that the world would recognize. I simply wanted to move from surviving life to thriving in life.

I did all that, and more. I married the man who stays and commits to his family. We had two children that I love and enjoyed raising. Once they were both in school, I too returned to school. I entered our local branch of the Ohio State University where I completed both a Bachelor's of Science in Education and a Master's in Education. The mother's heart and soul within me reached right into the classroom for eighteen years.

And now, here I am at sixty, still wife, still mom, and now grandmother to six wonderful children. My heart is full of gratitude and thankfulness.

So, ask me now what my life goals are. Here they are . . .

I want to maintain a grateful heart. Always. I have so very much for which to be thankful. Thankful for saving grace and rescue and restoration. A restoration so deep and complete that chains were broken, cycles of abuse and neglect were abolished, paving the way for future generations to thrive in life.

Now, I'm thankful for my own personal growth and maturity and confidence. Confidence to step out of comfort zones and truly experience this glorious life. Maturity that holds a heart of passion and compassion, joy and joyfulness, a heart that loves and holds the ability to receive love in return, and the wisdom to know when to say goodbye and always ready to say hello.

I want to leave footprints of bravery and courage to take on new challenges while maintaining my family and the love that enfolds me there. So that my children and grandchildren know that life is worth living. Really living, not just surviving.

I want other to remember me and say,

Kari really knew how to live. 

I saw her mother her children, even though she was learning as she did so. 

I saw her love her husband and build her family. 

I saw her love her Lord, where she found amazing grace.

I saw her work for her dreams for a future.

Her eyes were always focused upward and outward. She appreciated the beauty of nature and often pointed it out to others.

She caught hold of her dreams, and with boldness, set out to capture those dreams.

She grew from a child and young woman stifled in fear, to a strong and courageous individual.

To know her was to love her, and if you didn't, you missed out. Because Kari, well, Kari lived and loved and embraced the glory of living and of life. 

Kari

Earthworm

 Walking along with the dog, I saw a plump, long, and quite mature earthworm working its way across the concrete driveway. It was at a standstill, whether in fear of me and my canine friend, or simply wearing out, I do not know. My first instinct was to reach down and grab it and place it in the moist grass. And then, I wondered. How many people stop to save an earthworm?

I do. One might ask me why I would do this. It's simple really. As a gardener, I know the value of a beautifully matured earthworm such as this one I moved. It will aerate and fertilize the ground. It may even produce more earthworms to continue its essential work in my yard and garden.

Then there is also the simple case of seeing such a life-filled being facing the dangers of drought or the demise of being eaten by one of the many birds hanging out nearby. That worm would not stand a chance against those birds without being able to tunnel its way into the safety of the earth.

It knew this, I'm sure, because as I reached my hand out to it and touched it ever so slightly, it began rolling itself into strange shapes and angles, wriggling about. It did not know that my intentions were pure, and that I was only acting on its behalf.

I think about this worm and what I may have in common with it. I wonder about the times the Lord has reached down and moved me, whether physically,  mentally or spiritually. I know there have been sudden changes in my life where I, too, have wriggled about in an attempt to free myself of sudden shifts in mind or life. In these times, it's not always easy or enjoyable; however, more often than not, I find that I land upon soil that offers new opportunities that I otherwise would not have experienced.

I wonder about that worm. Did I return it from whence it came, or did I help it advance forward to where it was heading? Does it matter? Is it possible that the worm will simply make the best of its new situation, learning to adapt to its environment? Will it become an active member of its new community, or will it return to the pavement and the perils that lay ahead there?

And my response?